In the Peppermint Wind
by RaisingAmara
Summary: The end, as I would write it.


**_Author's Note:_** _While we don't know for sure how much longer the boys will go on battling evil every week, I've been thinking about how I'd like it all to end, since it does, inevitably, have to end. This is how I would write the final chapter._

Dean lingered alone at the sticky diner table and nursed a rapidly cooling cup of coffee. Through the grimy window glass, he kept an eye on his brother. The kid wasn't exactly a kid anymore at the age of 36, but the tall, lanky man who stood conversing with Chuck in the parking lot would forever be 12 in Dean's eyes.

He would forever need guidance.

He would always require sacrifice.

And he would always be way too complicated and require way too much work to figure out properly.

But Dean didn't mind.

He had a lifetime of experience in Sam-handling, after all.

And now, after a lifetime of beating back evil, of losing their father once and their mother twice and every loyal friend they'd ever had in the ultimate battle against evil, and even each other too many times to count, they'd come full circle.

It was just Sam and Dean again.

Just like it had been back in the early days - he and his brother alone in a car heading to some new town in some new state, looking for some new monster to turn their worlds upside down.

Except it took a little longer for them both to recover these days after a marathon session of digging in the local cemetery. Their bones ached a bit more and their muscles didn't bounce back quite as efficiently as they had 14 years ago.

There were usually two motel nights in between hunts now, instead of one, because it took that long for overstretched tendons to snap tight again.

Outside the window, Dean saw Sam frown and shake his head, and he wondered what Chuck could have said to warrant that response. He saw Sam glance toward him, looking worried, their eyes meeting across the lot, and that's when Dean decided he'd nursed his coffee long enough.

Chuck had requested an audience alone with his brother, and he'd gotten it. It was time for them both to be on their merry way.

Dean gestured to the waitress, winking as he placed a five-dollar bill on the table. And she smiled back as he slipped gingerly out of the booth and made for the door.

It was trying to rain outside, and his hip was killing him as he tried his best not to limp.

"We done here?" He asked, walking up on the strained conversation.

Chuck nodded, "Dean." He said simply, smiling.

Dean stared, unable to decipher the expression Chuck wore. He looked to his brother for clarification but found the same curiosity reflected back at him from eyes that looked just as confused. Sam shrugged.

Dean glared at Chuck. "Out with it, Chuck. What's the deal? You got another evil sister locked away somewhere or what?"

But Chuck just smiled that same unreadable smile.

"I was just telling Sam that it's time."

Dean nodded, "For what?"

"For your rewards, Dean."

Unconsciously, Dean took a step back. That didn't sound good. His eyes shot to Sam's. "What the hell does that mean?"

Chuck looked pained, "You and Sam have given everything in the battle against evil, Dean. Heaven knows all you've lost - all the people you've lost."

Dean was suddenly speechless.

Chuck went on, "Your father. Your mother. Jessica, Bobby. Garth, Charlie, Ellen, Jo … Cas … We've seen, Dean. We've seen and we've cried along with you." Chuck turned haunted eyes on Dean. "We know how hard it was for you when Cas …"

Dean felt bile rise in his throat. He wasn't talking about Cas. Not to Chuck. Not to anyone. Not now. Not ever.

"Yeah." He nodded, and slapped Chuck on the back. "Well, good talk." He turned to Sam. "Let's go."

"Dean. Wait." Chuck said, as they both turned toward the car.

"What?" Dean asked, looking back one last time.

And that's when Chuck placed two fingertips on the oldest Winchester's forehead.

###

"Come on, Dean. We'll be late to service." Mary cajoled, as she straightened the tiny tie at the four-year-old's throat.

"Sammy …" Dean began.

But Mary just smiled. "Daddy has Sammy. They're already in the car." She stood up and reached back down for Dean's hand. "Come on. Sammy gets baptized today. Don't you want to see?"

Dean nodded. He allowed his mother, in her pretty pink dress with the blue flowers, to lead him to the Impala. He climbed in the backseat, alone, as his mom settled herself in the front seat and took Sammy from Dad.

"Hello, Sammy." Dean heard her croon. "Hello my little angel. Did you miss me?"

Sammy cooed and gurgled, and in the backseat, Dean couldn't wait until the day when his little brother would stop being a baby and start being a real kid. Dean loved Sammy, but the baby was too little to really play. He couldn't throw a ball or run out in the yard or even play Legos without seeing how they tasted. He could just roll around and just barely sit up and he couldn't even talk.

Dean sighed, wriggling. His tie was too tight, and his dress shoes bit into his toes. He'd be glad when church was over, and he and Daddy could get back into their play clothes and maybe toss the football around.

From the front seat, Dean heard his dad's voice. "We get to meet the new pastor today, Dean. That'll be fun, right?" And Dad shot him a look in the mirror. It was a look of shared misery, and it made Dean giggle. Daddy hated his tie just as much as Dean did.

"I've heard a lot of good things about Pastor Cas." Mary added, hugging Sam tight to her chest and using her left hand to tickle his right.

But Dean didn't care. All he cared about was church getting over with and taking off his tie and maybe playing peekaboo with his brother. The kid was just a baby and all, but at least he squealed every time Dean popped back up over the blanket.

And it was Sunday. Mom always made pie on Sunday.

Dean was thinking these thoughts as the Impala pulled up and parked down the street from the tiny church, and he almost missed grabbing his two Army men up off the seat and stashing them in his pockets before Mom saw. If he was quiet, Daddy wouldn't mind if he played with them in the pew. Dean giggled then because that word always tickled his funny bone. He'd asked Daddy once why church chairs were called pews, and Daddy had looked around for Mom before answering, conspiratorially, that they were called that because the man who'd named them had once had to sit next to Mrs. Wiles from down the street.

Dean grinned just thinking about that. He was pretty sure Dad was pulling his leg, but still - it made a good secret.

Dean loved a good secret.

He tried hard not to frown as the small family made their way up the sidewalk, but his tie was driving him crazy. Mom had already told him once to stop fidgeting, and he knew from experience that he only had one more chance to behave. If Mom had to shush Dean a third time, Daddy would take over, and Dean would end up with a swat on the butt for sure.

Dean frowned even bigger at that thought. Sammy always got more than three chances to behave, and he never got a swat. And he was louder in church than Dean ever was.

But then they were walking through the big double doors and entering the sanctuary, and Dean heard the quiet rumble of the congregation as they greeted one another and told stories about all that had happened during the week. He liked to listen to the stories. Usually, he only heard them in pieces, but still, they were the most interesting part about church.

"Took that old dog inta see the vet yesterday. Said she'd never seen a dog so plumb …"

Dean didn't get to hear what was wrong with that old dog because the two men who were talking moved away up the aisle. But then Mrs. Lapp from Sunday school touched her daughter on the head to demonstrate to Mrs. Eike how the girl had taken scissors to her own hair, and wasn't it a mess now? All those blonde curls just gone …"

Dean tried to twist around to see how bad it really was, but then Dad was there and giving him The Look, and Dean had to let it go.

Sometimes Dean thought he missed out on more by coming to church than he did by staying home. He never did ever get to hear an ending to any story, and some of them were pretty darned good. Last week, he'd almost found out what the high school teacher and Mr. Parks were up to under the bleachers during the last football game, but apparently, Mom had been eavesdropping on that same conversation, and she'd suddenly looked all panicked and thrust a hymnal into Dean's hands and asked him loudly to find page 312. By the time he was done turning pages, that story was over, and the people who were telling it had moved on to that case of food poisoning from the Boy Scout banquet.

Dean sighed loudly without meaning to, and it caught the attention of the strange man who was making over Sammy to Dad. The man stopped gazing at Dean's little brother and turned his attention on Dean.

"Pastor Cas, this is our oldest, Dean." Dad was saying. "Dean, meet Pastor Cas."

Dean stared up at kind blue eyes that seemed like they knew him, but then the man was crouching down and kneeling on one knee to look Dean in the eye. He was silent, studying Dean's face for what seemed like forever, and then he smiled.

"Hello, Dean." He said in a gravelly voice that surprised the young boy. "It's very nice to meet you."

Dean felt confused by the man's intensity, but he remembered his manners enough to reply timidly. "Thank you, sir."

Pastor Cas looked like he wanted to say more, but there was a line forming behind Mom and Dad, and they suddenly urged him forward. The pastor stood up and stepped back, smiling and nodding at Dean's Mom as she passed by. And when they were in their seats and getting settled, Dean looked back to see what the pastor was doing, only to find him gazing right at Dean sadly.

Dean turned back around, "Pastor Cas looks sad." he whispered to Mom.

Mom only nodded, but Daddy agreed. "He does, doesn't he? I wonder if there's a story there?" He whispered back. Daddy knew how much Dean loved a good story. "Maybe we'll even get to hear the end of it today, hmm?" He shoulder bumped Dean, letting him know he was on his side, and Dean had a sudden thought that he wouldn't know what to do if Dad ever wasn't there anymore. The thought was sharp as a spear, and it went right through him, almost making him cry.

Dean wondered if maybe Pastor Cas' sorrow was contagious.

But then the service was starting, and Pastor Cas was introducing himself to his new congregation, and Dean's ears perked right up when the man did begin telling a story. It was the story of how Pastor Cas came to be the new shepherd of their flock, and it was mesmerizing.

"I had a friend." Pastor Cas began, his eyes conspicuously not searching out Dean among the pews. "I had a friend, and he was irreverent, and hot-headed and impulsive - everything my Father had taught me not to be. He swore, he drank … he enjoyed the company of women who were not his wife …"

Pastor Cas had to stop for a minute then because a rumble had started up at the front of the church and worked its way back the pews like a tsunami. But he held up a hand, and the room instantly went quiet again.

"When I first met him, he was … just back from a long trip … overseas. He was a soldier in a war, and it hadn't been kind to him. He was disillusioned, depressed. He'd lost his way and his faith. His father had died. His mother was gone - both lost in the same war. All he had left was his brother and a man whom he thought of as a kindly old uncle."

Pastor Cas paused here, and looked down at his papers, shuffling them around absently. Then he swallowed hard, looked up and continued.

"He was all of these things, but mostly he was angry. He didn't recognize me because he didn't believe God existed; he'd been made to suffer so. But even worse - he didn't feel like he was worthy of redemption even if there was a God."

Pastor Cas' eyes still jumped all around the sanctuary, landing everywhere but on Dean's family, and Dean wondered if there was a reason why.

"But I got to know this man. And I realized that he was a good man, despite his flaws. And he was flawed, make no mistake." Pastor Cas lamented, "As are we all." He looked down upon the pew where the commotion had started and just left his sentence hang for a minute or two.

"When I first met him, I felt sorry for him. I thought I could change him. But the more I was around him, the more it was myself that became changed." Pastor Cas paused here, and then continued. "And you might ask if he ever did amend his ways, if he ever did become a reverent man, a patient man … and the answer is no. He did not." Pastor Cas looked around his congregation, "But that didn't make him any less my friend. He was not reverent, but he was righteous. He was not patient, but he was kind. He was not devout, but he worshipped in his own way, his own God. And I didn't fault him for that. He was a good man, and he was my friend, and I miss him." Pastor Cas took a long drink of water from the table next to his pulpit.

"But because he had to … go away … I was reassigned here, to minister to you … my flock. It was a sad thing, but it was a wonderful thing too because, while I can no longer visit with my friend, I can stand here before you and vow to visit with each and every one of you should you ever need me to." His eyes fell right on Dean then. "I can guide you and help you and lift you up should you fall. I can help steer you from the wayward path and keep evil from finding you should it ever begin searching. I can do this … and more. And I will." He nodded at Dean's dad. "I'll do all in my power to keep you safe and to help you grow in your understanding of His ways."

Pastor Cas paused again, and he looked down at his notes before looking back up. His eyes found Dean again. "And I'll be your friend, just as I was his friend. And I won't judge you or lecture you or try to change you. I'll let you become who God meant you to be, and if you should need my advice, my guidance or my shoulder, I'll be waiting." Pastor Cas stepped back as the congregation stared on in awed silence.

"He's a natural speaker." Mom whispered in hushed tones, a look of rapture upon her face. And Dean looked around then and saw the same look repeated on the faces around him.

Pastor Cas stepped back up the pulpit and cleared his throat. "Let us pray."

###

"That was the strangest baptism I ever witnessed." Mom said later, as they were all back in the car and headed home, and she hugged Sammy extra hard until he squeaked to prove her point. "Did you ever hear a baptism like that one?" She asked Daddy. "Pastor Cas's church must have done things a lot differently."

Dad nodded, agreeing. "You know, I'm not really up on my ancient languages, but I'm pretty sure that was Latin he was speaking as he poured the water over Sammy's head. Almost sounded like a prayer for protection."

Dean grumbled from the back seat. "He splashed me, too!" He said, indignant. "It was s'posed to be Sammy's badtism. Not mine!"

Dad chuckled, catching Dean's eyes in the mirror. "Well, maybe you're protected now too, Deano."

And Mom joined in. "I'm pretty sure Pastor Cas was just a little nervous, Dean. He didn't mean to splash you too."

"Hmmph." Dean said, crossing his arms and glaring angrily out the window.

But then it was his mother who comforted him. "You know, Dean. It's Sunday." She said mysteriously.

"I know it." He said, refusing to be placated.

"And I left something cooling on the stovetop." She teased.

Dean looked over then, hopeful, "Was it pie?" He asked, mouth beginning to water.

She nodded, smiling. "It was. It was a blueberry pie. Your favorite, right?"

Dean nodded happily, church forgotten.

"Blueberry pie!" Dad repeated, enthusiastic. "I LOVE blueberry pie."

"Me too!." Dean echoed.

And the Impala drove on through the warm morning sun, through quiet streets where neighbors were just waking up and boys on bicycles tossed newspapers at front doors. It pulled into a modest driveway that fronted a modest two-story home, and Dean jumped out of the car, hurtful shoes in hand, his tie streaming loose behind him, as Daddy chased him, giggling, up the driveway and into the house. Mom followed at a more sedate pace, baby Sam wrapped carefully in her arms. She leaned down and nuzzled the warm baby fur on top of his head, making him coo with pleasure, and said hello to the rose bushes and the azaleas that grew by the way. She noticed the way the sky looked and the neat trim job John had done with the mower around her flower beds. The paint on the shutters was chipped and peeling, and the door to the garage hung a bit crooked, but the home looked … happy. It looked loved.

She felt loved.

"It's going to be a beautiful day, Sammy." She promised, hugging him close. "It's going to be a beautiful life."

The End

 ** _Where the Sidewalk Ends_** ** _by Shel Silverstein_**

 _There is a place where the sidewalk ends_  
 _And before the street begins,_  
 _And there the grass grows soft and white,_  
 _And there the sun burns crimson bright,_  
 _And there the moon-bird rests from his flight_  
 _To cool in the peppermint wind._

 _Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black_  
 _And the dark street winds and bends._  
 _Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow_  
 _We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,_  
 _And watch where the chalk-white arrows go_  
 _To the place where the sidewalk ends._

 _Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,_  
 _And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,_  
 _For the children, they mark, and the children, they know_  
 _The place where the sidewalk ends._


End file.
